Page 64 of Midnight at the Magnolia

A sharp knock cuts through my spiral of self-recrimination. Detective Reeves appears in my doorway, looking as haggard as I feel. The stale smoke clinging to his rumpled suit tells me he’s been chain-smoking—his own way of dealing with a case gone sideways.

“Forensics report just came in,” he says, voice gravelly with fatigue. The file lands on my desk with the weight of a death sentence. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

“Some evidence you can’t unsee,”Lauren’s voice whispers as I flip open the folder. My heart sinks with each damning word. The knife that killed Gregory—Celeste’s knife—has DNA matching our mystery vigilante. The same DNA from multiple crime scenes over the past year.

“Looks like your girlfriend’s got some explaining to do,” Reeves says, trying for gruff sympathy and landing somewhere near pity.

I shoot him a warning look, jaw clenching. “Celeste is a victim in all this. She was defending herself.” The words feel hollow even as I say them, like trying to convince myself the sun rises in the west.

“That’s what I said about you too, remember?”Lauren’s memory cuts deep.“Right before you figured out I was dirty. Sometimes love blinds us to the obvious.”

“Where is she now?” I force the question past the tightness in my throat.

“In a holding cell.” Reeves’ coffee-scented reply carries unspoken questions. “Want me to bring her up?”

I nod, ignoring the spike of pain through my temples. “Yeah. I need to question her myself.”

“Be careful,”Lauren warns as Reeves leaves.“She’s already proven she can get the drop on you once.”

The wait feels eternal. I pace my office like a caged animal, each step marking time between who I was yesterday and who I am today. The familiar sounds of the precinct - phones ringing, muffled conversations, ancient air conditioning rattling - feel suddenly foreign, like background noise in someone else’s life.

When they finally bring her in, the sight of her stops me cold. She looks small in her pink diner uniform, vulnerable in a way that makes my protective instincts surge. But there’s something else, something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. A flash of calculation in her eyes, there and gone so quick I might have imagined it.

But I didn’t imagine it. Not this time.

“You’re not imagining things anymore,”Lauren’s voice confirms.“You’re finally seeing clearly. Question is: what are you going to do about it?”

“Celeste,” I manage, fighting to keep my voice neutral.

She looks up, relief washing over her face like a perfectly rehearsed scene. “Ethan. Thank God. Can I go home now? I’ve been here for hours.”

I sink into the chair across from her, its cold metal grounding me in reality. “There are some inconsistencies in your story we need to clear up.” I can’t help adding, with bitter humor, “And trust me, I’ve been replaying every moment in my head all night, so I’ve got a pretty good highlight reel going. Spoiler alert: it’s not a feel-good movie.”

She doesn’t respond. Just sits there looking both breathless and defiant, a contradiction that makes my head spin and my heart ache.

“Sometimes silence says more than words,”Lauren’s memory whispers.“You taught me that too.”

“Walk me through it again,” I lean forward, studying her face like evidence at a crime scene. “When did you first notice Gregory acting suspiciously?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions,”Lauren’s voice chides.“You know she’s going to lie. Ask what matters.”

Celeste sighs, running a hand through her hair. The familiar gesture sends a wave of her scent across the table - jasmine and coffee and something uniquely her. A scent that used to mean comfort. Now it just reminds me of betrayal.

“I told you, Ethan. About a week ago. He came into the diner, more agitated than usual.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me earlier because...?”

“Because I didn’t think it was relevant!” Her hands fly up in exasperation. Perfect indignation. Perfect performance. “He’s always been a bit odd. How was I supposed to know he was planning a heist?”

“Notice how she deflects?”Lauren whispers.“Just like I used to. Answer a question with a question. Keep them defensive, off balance.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting both my headache and my instincts. All my training says she’s lying. My heart keeps trying to find excuses for her.

A knock interrupts us—lunch offer from an officer. I wave him off, but not before catching the audible growl of Celeste’s stomach. This small, human detail nearly undoes me.

“When’s the last time you ate?” My voice softens traitorously.

“I... I’m not sure. Yesterday, maybe?”

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